


Marked for Life

by Kevnis



Series: Like a Lead Balloon [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, I'm Sorry, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, and yes I will probably write more in this series too, but the idea POSSESSED ME., yes I did another one of these, yes I'm still working on rising fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 15:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15888864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kevnis/pseuds/Kevnis
Summary: Part 2 of the ineffably named "Like a Lead Balloon" series, because I'm bad at titles. Now it's Crowley's turn to face the music.For the uninitiated, this is that AU where humans are born with a birthmark/"tattoo" of the first words their soulmate will say to them.





	Marked for Life

It was the dead of night when Crawly first slithered onto the barren Earth, his poised wings the only part of him with a definite shape. The rest of him writhed and twisted in and out of different forms of existence as he tried to wrap his head around being human. Eventually, it was just as much instinct as conscious thought that made the final call. An arm solidified first, digging its stiff and uncertain fingers into the dry dirt. It led into a shoulder, and then a head began to take shape.

Crawly knew that his ability to influence any part of this would be, at the very least, extremely limited. He would be able to choose the nature of his body, but not its qualities. This was true of all angels, but even more so for the fallen ones, who had been cursed with new and utterly immutable features designed to betray them no matter what form they took. Still, Crawly couldn’t prevent himself from hoping desperately to be beautiful. He could hardly be expected to be the face of temptation, if his face itself wasn’t tempting.

His new muscles trembled with effort as they were put to work the moment they solidified. Crawly was trying to move, and thrashing in frustration when his attempts failed to mobilise him. The only earthly shape he had ever taken had not had limbs, and the dead weight of arms felt disgustingly foreign to him. His torso, now fully formed, flexed against the ground, but this one didn’t have the right musculature to drag him forward. He hissed with displeasure.

His legs began to appear just as his wings started to shrink. He tried to use them to find purchase against the ground, but only succeeded in skinning his knees before the flesh on them had even fully coalesced into a solid, smooth surface. He hissed again, and this time the sound was underpinned by a low, solid grunt. _Oh. Vocal chords_. His other form hadn’t had them. Another thing that would take some getting used to, he realised with chagrin.

And then the transformation was over. He could feel it. It felt static, and complete. Only some of the finer details remained. Crawly groaned and shifted, trying to pull his resistant arms and legs under him to push himself up. It was like trying to move limbs made of wood. He wasn’t at home in this body, and controlling any part of it took great concentration. Eventually, he managed to rise to his knees.

As the finishing touches filled in, Crawly tested his corporeal senses. Sight, good. Sound, good. Touch, good. The only problem he ran into was that flicking his tongue out and sliding it against the roof of his mouth no longer gave him a solid scent profile of the world around him. If he focused, he could make it happen, but it didn’t seem to come with part of the human package, as it were. He assumed the heat vision wouldn’t come either, unless he made the concentrated effort to change his body to allow it. It didn’t matter greatly to him, though. He could learn to live with human senses. The human body, on the other hand, was much more of a challenge. Crawly was glad he was alone as he rocked and stumbled, trying to stand. It took a few minutes of making an utter fool of himself, but eventually he succeeded in getting to his feet. He was quite proud of himself for managing to balance on them, but knew that if he tried to take so much as a single step just yet, he would almost certainly fall again.

Now, finally, he turned his attention to his appearance. He felt no need to cover his body. For one, he was eager to examine all of it, and for another, he had - like most demons - lost the sense of modesty that had been expected of him up Above. Besides, despite being mostly human-shaped, he didn’t have the parts considered shameful for them. So Crawly stayed, at least for now, in his natural state. He looked down at his torso, thin and lithe. Then his arms, the same. All the while, his hands, still awkward and somewhat uncooperative, nevertheless managed to follow his eyes over the surface of his body, adding a tactile sense to his analysis. They ran over his smooth skin and clutched at his long, dark hair. Crawly wished he had a mirror to examine his face, but was too drained to conjure one himself. For now, he would have to content himself with using his hands alone. Gently, he felt at his features, trying to glean what he could from the touch. Everything seemed symmetrical, at the very least. His jaw felt strong and angular - at least, for a human. His nose felt straight. His cheekbones felt high and prominent. He allowed himself a small sigh of relief as he let his fingers run idly over his skin, his closed eyes, his pliant lips. Everything appeared to be in order. He was even beginning to feel connected with this body. Not enough that it would obey him just yet, but enough that he could see himself being at home in it one day. He felt-

He felt-

Like _Crowley_.

He had toyed with the name a bit, in his head, but now it felt _real_. It had substance, the way this solid mortal body did. They both suited him. His hands roamed over his body as he thought about it.

_Crowley_.

They ran delicately down the full length of his hair.

_Crowley_.

They traced the shape of his neck.

_Crowley_.

They ran over his chest and clutched at his waist.

_Crowley, Crowley, Crowley_. Yes, that was him. He grinned at the revelation.

Crowley was feeling more certain of his stance now. He could probably try walking, if he wanted to. But first, he dusted himself off. If he wasn’t going to be getting around by crawling in the dirt anymore, there was no sense in looking like he did. Just as he was brushing the palms of his hands against each other to dislodge any remaining filth, something caught his eye. Something on his left forearm. Curious, Crowley lifted it to get a closer look.

It was writing. _Celestial_ writing. Confused, he tried to rub at it with his fingers, but it didn’t come off.

Then it dawned on him. There was a rule about this, wasn’t there? For humans. About “soulmates”. Crowley had heard of it, but hadn’t paid the whole concept much mind. Until now. Come to think of it, how could this even be possible? He was a demon, after all; he was entirely certain that he wasn’t supposed to have a-

His train of thought was cut suddenly short as he finished reading the words on his arm. He squinted, and read them again, fully concentrating this time.

“I’m sorry, what was it you were saying?”

Well, they weren’t exactly impactful first words, were they? But it didn’t matter. Crowley recognised them. He _remembered_ them. They had already been spoken to him, extremely recently, in fact. And oh, _he remembered who had said them_.

A wicked grin split Crowley’s face, and his rapid tongue darted out to wet his lips. Oh, this was too good. He didn’t put much stock in the whole “soulmate” thing - didn’t understand it, didn’t want to. But this, this could be _fun_.

He had been sent to Earth to stir up some trouble. Well, no one had said that he had to make trouble for humans, specifically. Besides, he had already been planning on satisfying some of his own ulterior motives while he was up here, whenever he found some ulterior motives to satisfy. And here, the perfect little side project had just fallen right into his lap. Crowley chuckled, an uneven sibilant sound that he didn’t quite have a handle on. His fingers traced pensively over the letters on his left arm. If that angel ever came to Earth, Crowley was going to pester the Heaven out of him over this. He hoped, fervently, that they would meet again.

Something told him that they might. And sooner, rather than later.


End file.
